


i ran to the sea (i cried power)

by Zartbitterpoetin



Series: What The Water Gave Me [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Storytelling, The Revolution Will Be Televised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 16:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zartbitterpoetin/pseuds/Zartbitterpoetin
Summary: In the Capitol they sometimes ask him about James.There are cameras flashing and “Finnick, how old is your son now?” and music playing and “He’ll be old enough for his first reaping soon, won’t he?” and dancing until he can barely stand anymore and “Would you like to mentor James?” (They shouldn’t know his name.)





	i ran to the sea (i cried power)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
The third part is done and it's getting happier (yeah!)  
The title is from "Sinnerman".

He looks at his son’s eyes, blue like the ocean, and starts to cry. He pretends it is only out of joy but Annie looks at him and _knows_ and while holding their child she gives him a sad, answering smile_._ _What have we done? How could we do this to a child? _

His parents and his siblings don’t understand but Mags does and the other victors too, most of them at least, and he calls Johanna because she deserves to know that her godson has been born before she sees it on television. And it will be on television, Finnick is sure about that.

Mags is one of the first to hold the baby, before his parents or his siblings or Annies brother who doesn’t even know he has a nephew until a few days later, when the gossip reaches him.

Finnick loves his mother, he does, even though she never looked at him the same way after he won and even though there is so much silent disapproval directed at him, but Mags is just as much a mother to him.

She coos at the little boy and giggles when he grabs her finger with his whole hand and then she gives him to his other grandmother and takes Finnick aside. “This is gonna be hard,” she tells him, and he can’t hold back a small, desperate chuckle at that. “I know,” he says. She looks at him for a long, hard moment and then hugs him. She can’t say more.

He isn’t the only victor with children, but there aren’t many others either – it’s a huge fucking risk and he knew it, they both did and yet…

Their son is a miracle and if Finnick isn’t very careful they are going to take him away. They call him James, after Annies Father, who died in a storm a few years ago.

“Brave James, captain of the biggest ships on the mighty sea,” Annie says, a line from an old story they tell at home and kisses his little stomach. Finnick watches and laughs and fears.

Finnick stays for about two months before he goes back to the Capitol, for his next year as a mentor and as usual he is one of the first to arrive and will be one of the last to go but he doesn’t complain. There’s no use. He puts on a mask and leaves the truth at home and only shows it there – not in his district, not in his house, only in the crook of Annies neck and when he is out at sea.

When he meets the others, there are knowing glances and pity. “I hear you’re a father now, eh?” Haymitch hollers at him when they first see each other.

“Yes. His name is James.”

Haymitch sits down beside him and nudges him with his shoulder. “You sure got yourself into a big mess,” he says and then laughs, raspy and not nice at all.

“Guess I did,” Finnick replies and smiles without happiness behind it.

That becomes his new life. He spends a month or two in the Capitol and the rest with Annie and his son and Mags and his family and sometimes he meets with Jo and sometimes he chats with the other victors over the phone and he can almost forget everything bad before the Games start again.

His son grows older, and his first word is “Ma”, which Mags claims is his nickname for her, and soon he is running everywhere and talking like a waterfall. James is curious, wants to know all the answers to everything and maybe that is why Sally is his favorite aunt, because she always has a new interesting fact for him.

James is four when he first asks something that Finnick doesn’t want to answer but definitely has to. There are at the beach, Annie has fallen asleep on a blanket they brought with them and he is chasing his laughing son and his niece and nephew across the sand.

Ians Children, Mary and Patrik, are a year older and a year younger than James, and he and his wife are expecting again, and Ava is pregnant with her first child too and he is glad that his son has and will have many siblings, even though they are technically his cousins.

Finnick and the others all take turns watching the children because in Four family is family and that is what you do, and he loves that slice of normality.

In the last few minutes, Sally has joined them at the beach, having just come home from work – she is a teacher and a good one too. She has a way with words and is good with the children and she still has to teach them the propaganda of the Capitol but she does it in a way that suggests something else underneath.

A truth behind the shiny words. She is good at those hidden truths. Not as good as himself, but still. 

In the last minutes, James has gone all silent and sad, so Finnick convinces Mary and Patrik to go to their Aunt Sally for a minute or two and steers James away. Then he crouches down before him.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s up, Jamie?” For a long moment, James just stares at the ground, silent, and fidgeting with his hands. “Papa?” he finally asks. “You love Mama and me, right?” Finnick frowns.

“Of course, little sailor. What made you think I didn’t?” James shifts uncomfortable. “I saw you on TV,” he finally admits, in a whisper.

Suddenly, it’s like all air has left his lungs and the waves are suddenly way to loud. Sucking in a panicked breath, he grabs James by the shoulders.

“Listen, James. Don’t believe anything you see on TV, alright.” James nods, intimidated. “Promise me,” Finnick says, because James has to understand.

“I promise,” his son replies, frightened and Finnick hugs him and wants to never let him go.

“When you gonna start training him?” Johanna asks one day, two years later. It is the night before the Games begin and everything is in a frenzy but somehow, he and Jo have found some time for themselves, like every year.

They share a smoke or two and sit down on a rooftop of some fancy house or another. Most of the time, there is a big party going on and they can still feel the music from where they are sitting. It is a bit chilly and they can’t see the stars because the Capitol has too many damn lights and they simply talk, about everything and nothing.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to train him at all,” he finally says and takes a deep drag of the cigarette. “Yeah, no shit. I knew that already,” she drawls and looks at him, hooded eyes with bags under her eyes. The make-up does a good job of hiding them, but Finnick knows they are there.

Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it is hard to find.

Almost everything in the Capitol is fake – after a while you get used to it. When he doesn’t answer, she turns to him.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t even started a plan yet?” He stays silent, just flicks some ash away. There is as mocking gasp from Johanna, and then a small, mean chuckle. “You really haven’t.” She starts laughing, throwing her head back and holding her sides, and sometimes he really doesn’t like her, even though she is one of his best friends.

“Jo,” he says, hoping she’ll hear how much he really hasn’t the nerves for her shit right now, not when they are talking about James. “Johanna, stop,” he presses out between clenched teeth. She doesn’t listen, just keeps laughing. “I know what I’m doing,” he says, angry and that finally makes her stop. She looks at him, with simmering anger and like she can’t quite believe her eyes.

“No, you don’t. I want the chance to see my godson grow up,” she tells him, harshly and suddenly without a trace of humor in her voice. He flinches at that and she doesn’t look apologetic but calms down. It isn’t a good calm though. He hasn’t seen her like this in years, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything good.

“He isn’t old enough yet,” he tells her and even to his own ears it sounds like an excuse. She shakes her head, smiling grimly.

“I can’t believe you. Finnick, he is seven! He is in school now; you have to start! Half of his life is already over otherwise.” He fells anger well up in his chest, at her harsh words.

“Fuck you,” he says and means it. “You think I really want to bring him here? What kind of father am I, to let him walk in here? Doesn’t matter if he survives or not. I’ve doomed him either way.” At his last words, his voice breaks, so he takes another drag from his cigarette, to keep himself from talking. Johanna stares at him, speechless for a few minutes. There are unshed tears in her eyes, and for a second Finnick is falters, because he can count the times he has seen her cry on one hand.

“So you want to do what? Let him walk in there without any preparation? Because he is going in there, if you want it or not.” He thinks if he would speak now, he’d break down and sob, so he doesn’t. Just keeps smoking and looking at the houses of the city that steals their lifes.

“Finnick, we’re gonna find a way to protect him , once he is out of the arena, alright? But first he has to make it.”

He starts training his son for the Games a few months later and Annie has the saddest eyes but lets him do it still. He teaches him how to swim and how to use a trident and he doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t think about torn flesh and screams and blood. Mags teaches James too, and old Kyle helps her sometimes and it would be sweet if it wasn’t also so cruel.

In the Capitol they sometimes ask him about James.

There are cameras flashing and “Finnick, how old is your son now?” and music playing and “He’ll be old enough for his first reaping soon, won’t he?” and dancing until he can barely stand anymore and “Would you like to mentor James?” (They shouldn’t know his name.)

There are people smiling with their teeth, predators waiting for their next prey and “Do you think he’ll grow up to be just as handsome as his daddy?” and hands on his naked skin, bodies on his body. He doesn’t ever answer those questions, just smiles and deflects.

Snow smiles too, when he tells him of his plans. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if your son, what was his name again –,” he says, like he doesn’t know exactly how his son is called.

“James, wasn’t it –,” he waits for Finnick to nod and then continues, “if your James was reaped at thirteen and would actually win? The youngest victor ever, he’d surpass even you. The people would love him. And no offense, Mr. Odair, but you won’t be young forever and they’ll want something new eventually and if that something looks like you – ”

With the image of his son going through all that, he snaps. He can no longer just sit there, pretending and pretending and watching Snow smile and decide over the fate of his son. And for a moment Finnick forgets everything and shouts at the man.

“You can’t do that to him!” Snow looks at him, sharp and snake-like and his stomach drops because of course he can. He has the power.

He has all the power.

Desperation fills Finnick and he knows, he must do something, anything to somehow prevent this. There is a buzzing noise in his head and the world is turning around him and now he is standing and shouting: “He doesn’t deserve it! I did everything you asked of me, you have no reason to punish me, please!” Snow stands up too, slowly, like the predator he is, and stares at him with those cold, cold eyes.

“We can just as well arrange for him to be reaped even earlier or for him to die a particularly cruel death in the arena, Mr. Odair. We can sent mutants to tear him apart and when he is on the verge of death we can bring him back and then we’ll do it all again. We can keep him like this for days.”

And he sees James, his little boy, slaughtered for the amusement of the Capitol. So torn apart that he doesn’t recognize him anymore and still breathing, even though his stomach is ripped open and his entrails are hanging out.

_If I submit, at least he has a chance_, something in him whispers. So Finnick sits back down and bows his head in a show of submission. But there is another part in him, getting stronger and stronger, that wants to rebel. _This is the breaking point, _it says. _Make them fear you._

They have all the power. _Snow _has all the power. But Finnick has secrets and shadows and stories and he doesn’t look Snow in the eyes.

“President Snow, I am sorry for my inappropriate show of emotion.” He makes sure to look like he is barely hiding his defiance, clenching his teeth, but ultimately accepting his defeat, his complete helplessness.

“Just give him a few more years. Let him be sixteen. He’ll have a much bigger chance of surviving and think about how much the Capitol will like that. Their new, younger version of me.” He feels sick at the thought but keeps talking anyway.

“They’ll just love him. Of course, I’ll do my part to. I’ll do whatever you want from me, I won’t complain, I won’t show that I’m tired. I will be perfect. Please.” He is begging and pretending to hate it, but he’s lost his pride a long time ago. Hell, he would suck off Snow right now, if it would help him achieve anything.

He has lived long enough as a puppet to not put much value on his body or sex anymore.

And Snow, arrogant, powerful Snow agrees and Finnick doesn’t smile, just looks a little less miserable.

Finnick makes true of his word. He does everything Snow demands. He destroys his body and builds it up again for the entertainment of the Capitol, but there are things Snow doesn’t see. Finnick gathers secrets, whispered in his ear by guilty lovers, wrung out of drunken or high clients.

He learns sign language to communicate with avoxes and builds up networks all over the city. He transports messages between members of the revolution. Mags helps him, of course. She’s been building up the revolution before he was even born.

But Finnick is in a unique position. He is so often in the Capitol that they don’t really notice him anymore – oh, sure, they see his body but he builds up the façade of the arrogant shining star who is only concerned with his looks, other peoples’ looks, drugs and the Hunger Games.

He is drunk most of the time, so they underestimate him, drop important information around him and he saves it all in his mind. He becomes one of the most important spies for the rebellion and they call him “The Shadow”. Finnick thinks it’s kind of ironic, since he is such a public figure, but it is also very fitting. Not one of them really sees him.

And in the shadows, his secrets spread like a spider’s web. In the shadows, he holds the power.

“I know about your affair with your sister. I’d advise you to better give us the data we want.”

and

“Go and ask for the shadow. He can help you flee. He knows everyone. Just be careful.”

and

“I heard there is someone in the Capitol, high up there, who is working against them!”

and

“Have you heard of the agent that knows everyone in the Capitol?”

and

“I heard a story of a man who would do everything to save us all from the wrath of the Capitol.”

He comes home and trains James for something he should never see, not even know about, in another world, a better one. He becomes harder. He knows it, because sometimes he can’t calm down Annie, when he has just arrived from the Capitol.

He just stands there, helplessly, and it is James who helps her instead, or Mags, or Sally. He wants to apologize but doesn’t.

He can’t get the words out, somehow.

He just holds her and tries to tell her through kisses what he can’t say, not yet, maybe never. James has started to look at him with the same mistrust and disgust and sadness that he sees in Sally too, and he hates it, but he can’t do anything against it. James is nine now, and has definitely seen the pictures of his father and heard countless stories and although he still seems to remember the promise he gave Finnick, he is also growing up and becoming harsher.

He has learned by now that he can’t ask to many questions, that there are things you must not ask, not in public at least.

But the thing is: Finnick also knows how to hide truths, so that only the right people can find them. Sometimes he goes fishing with James, just the two of him, and he tells his son of how to detect and tell lies, how to put on a mask, how to deceive and pretend.

They practice too, in the training center that doesn’t exist, with people his age, and with his sibling-cousins, and with Mags. Mags detects every single lie, of course she does, because the old woman is probably a sea witch from the old times.

A good one, of course.

The elder ones all were - at least that is what Annie claims, and she should know. After all, her mother was a storyteller, and her grandmother before her and she inherited their souls. And storytelling is something every victor is familiar with anyway because they depend on stories.

Not the good kind, the ones that help, and comfort, and guide. Like everything else in the Capitol, their stories are something twisted, abominations, a perverse thing for sick pleasure and spectacle.

And he teaches James about that too, about how he can use the stories, the good ones and the bad ones, and then they train again.

Sometimes, Finnick trains Mary and Patrik too, because you can never now and they’ll be of reaping age soon, anyway. And besides, he and his siblings still take their turns watching the children – it just happens that Finnick spends his time with them a little different.

When he is in the Capitol, he talks to some of the other victors about his plans, with the help of Mags. It’s her influence that actually convinces most of them to go along with it. It’s a crazy, stupid idea, but it might just work. If they can find a way to have tributes in the Arena that will all work together, instead of against each other, they will have a distraction big enough to take action against Snow and his government.

“It won’t work,” Haymitch tells him. “It never works.” He grabs Finnick by the front of his shirt and pushes him against the wall, their faces close, almost touching. The alcohol is heavy on his breath, but not more than usual. “Don’t put yourself through this, kid,” he says, and his eyes are filled with hidden pain and desperation.

And Finnick understands why Haymitch is like this– he wants to protect him, wants to keep all of them from experiencing what he and Johanna had to life though.

But Finnick can’t just sit there and watch everything he did, the possibility of freedom and a better future, slip though his fingers.

“Haymitch,” he says, and pushes the man away, softly.

“We have to try. If not for us, then for our children and the children of the Districts. Please.”

He doesn’t manage to convince him, but Seeder does, to his surprise. Of all the victors, he wouldn’t have expected the woman from Eleven to be the one to change Haymitchs mind.

But there is something between the Victors of the poorest Districts that he can’t completely understand. He doesn’t have to, maybe he shouldn’t even understand – some things are meant to stay hidden, protected from prying eyes.

They talk about how they can achieve peace between the children in the arena and eventually the few victors with children of the right age offer them up. It’s a hard sacrifice, a cruel, cruel thing but it’s one of the best chances they’ve got.

Not only are the children in close proximity, they know about the Games. And since James will be reaped, without doubt, they decide that this will be the year of action for them. Until then, they go back to their districts every year and have hidden conversations and training sessions with potential tributes and all the while the tension grows.

James becomes twelve and the clock ticks and ticks and ticks and Finnick gathers secrets and connects people and tells stories and waits.

James isn’t reaped when he is twelve nor when he is thirteen, fourteen or fifteen. Snow stays true to his word and they call his name when he sixteen and Finnick is almost surprised that it actually worked, if it weren’t for the fact that the female tribute this year is James cousin, Ian’s daughter Mary.

And Finnick hates Snow a little bit more but at the same time he is grateful. In his attempt to be cruel, he has helped Finnick, Finnick and the rebellion. Still, he stands on stage, hands folded in front of him, with a slightly worried but ultimately proud look on his face but he can feel his mask slipping. Annie besides him takes his hand.

She is going to mentor with him this year. Their son walks up, shoulders squared, looking brave and dangerous and Finnick hates that he is already analyzing the Capitol’s reaction to this.

James even smiles at the crowd, a bit cocky, and one part of him thinks _good, that’ll get him sponsors _and the other one is terrified because of the exact same reason. He’ll have a lot of sponsors. Fuck.

But Finnick also remembers what they agreed upon, in hushed whispers and that, if everything goes smoothly, his son will never be a victor.

Most people notice that this reaping is different. There is something in the air, like electricity, but there is also the fact that three children of victors are tributes and over two third of all tributes are volunteers. Coincidence of course, but still.

Behind the stage, one of the peacekeepers approaches them – Finnick, Annie, their son and their niece. “You can now see your families, if you want to,” he says and smiles politely. “We’d like to stay together. Half of the family is already here, I guess,” James replies sweetly and there is something cold behind his eyes.

The peacekeeper leads them to a room where the whole family Odair is there and Ian looks at Finnick with suspicion. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” he hisses as a greeting, but Finnick shakes his head.

“Only about James. But I promise you, I will get them through this. Just watch.” And his brothers’ eyes widen and Finnick knows that he understood. With a grim smile, Ian hugs his nephew and his daughter and then everything besides the Games and the revolution vanishes in Finnick’s mind.

The train, preparations, nightmares. Hugging his son tight and promising him that everything will be alright.

(Lies. Lies. Lies.)

The training center and the buzzing in the air getting heavier. The Capitol notices it too, but they think it is just excitement. The districts notice it and start preparing and the tributes know it, the difference.

The interviews are rebellious, with anger and hate and desperation barely contained under the surface. James is one of the best, Finnick notes proudly. He plays with the audience, flirts with them, without totally copying his father. There is something more on edge with him, sharper, somehow.

When the games start, the tributes don’t kill each other, most at least. Four tributes, four _children_ were too scared to believe James Cresta when he told them that they would all keep each other save.

They were too mistrustful, too realistic, really, and so there are still dead children in these Games. James killed two of them, but Finnick will only learn that later. For now, they use the distraction of the games and the open rebellion on the TV screens to fight their silent revolution.

And they win. Finnick kills Snow and it’s almost too easy. He doesn’t even draw it out, it’s a death that’s too merciful for this man but they still have to fight against other forces of the Capitol.

The districts rise up and later Finnick will hold his shaking son tight in his arm and know that they have power now.

He just hopes that their sacrifices were worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @leuchtstabrebell


End file.
